Free The Demon Catchers of Milan by Kat Beyer Page B

survive. I saw the carpet on the floor of my room back home floating beneath my dangling feet, my heels hitting each other. I felt the power that had sent me floating into the air. I wanted to choke, to throw up. I wanted to rip every book from the shelves. I wanted to walk out into the hall and scream at them both until my throat was sore.
    Instead I sat on my bed, palms on my knees.
    They were thinking about training me, but they couldn’t. Everything I might learn, the demon would learn. Something had happened today that had made them think. What did they mean, I had seen him? Of course I had seen him. He had come in and talked to Emilio just like anybody else walking into the shop.
    Except he didn’t, did he? said a voice in my head. That was when I remembered I had never heard the bells ring on the shop door, and then it all came together, somehow. He had come to the table, but I had never heard the scrape of a chair. Emilio hadn’t offered him food, a breach of manners I couldn’t imagine a Della Torre guilty of, even though I had only known them for about five weeks.
    Our eyes see what we expect to see. I wondered what else I had thought I had seen. I had heard them talking. But had I seen them talk? Could I remember seeing Emilio’s mouth move? I could very clearly remember how surprised he had been, when I had asked if it was okay for me to stay. He hadn’t expected me to be able to see this person or hear their conversation, so of course it was all right if I stayed.
    I kept staring at the wall.
    Maybe the demon did give me these powers. I remembered the thrill of being able to hear inside people’s heads. I remembered the horrible, sick thud of my sister against the wall.… What did Emilio mean, when he spoke of my grandfather, my branch of the family, our powers? I knew they were talking about me, but what about Gina? And what about my dad? I wanted to know, but the other thing Giuliano had said sent the rest of my thoughts into the shadows.
    I wasn’t going to survive.…
    I sat on my bed, palms on my knees, and let the tears roll down my cheeks.

EIGHT
    The Case of Signora Galeazzo
    “T oo many words,” I wrote to Gina the next morning, in an e-mail. I was in a foul mood.
Dear Gina,
They wear me out. Learning a new language makes me hungry all the time. Trying to write you an e-mail in English is like this colossal task. I wish I could do what Emilio does, switching back and forth as if he’s done it forever.
I wonder if I’ll ever feel better. I’m starting to be able to imagine what it would be like to be normal again. Especially like I was before I met our bizarre Italian family, with their food obsession and their weird demon job and their house full of old stuff.
You asked me whether I have seen the demon again, since the plane, but I haven’t. I don’t want to see it ever again. Sometimes I think I can hear it, way out beyond where anyone should be able to hear.
    Plus there are uncanny voices that float in the room, and miserable midnight conversations between a cousin I had a crush on and an old man I wanted to trust. But I didn’t feel like telling Gina about those things, even though I wanted more than anything to talk to someone who would understand.
I miss you. Make Dad and Mom save enough money so you guys can come over soon.
Love and good luck with the twenty-minute makeup job and the Duke of Naples,
Mia
    When I finished I put my head down on the keyboard and cried, so my sister told me later that she got an entire page of random letters, mostly G s, at the end of my e-mail, which I didn’t notice because my eyes were too blurry when I clicked on the SEND button.
    Eventually I lifted my head, went to the bathroom before anyone could see me, and washed my face. What else could I do?
    I stayed in my room for most of the day. I didn’t want to see Giuliano or Emilio, or anyone else for that matter. These people, who were so kind to me, thought I was going to die. Mystory was already